


Artistry

by eirabach



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Mild Smut, Prompt Fic, proto-smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-08
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-08-13 21:38:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7987117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eirabach/pseuds/eirabach
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frustration is a terrible thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Artistry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [seastarved](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seastarved/gifts), [SpartanGuard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpartanGuard/gifts).



> For seastarved and spartanguard for the following prompts: I'm a lucky girl, I'll admit that / I bet you feel like an artist / This is where you impress me, right?
> 
> Proto-smut. Sorry?

“I really wish you’d get on with it.”

He wraps his fingers around her right ankle, lifting her leg slightly so that her bent knee allows him a better view of where she’s naked and damp and _waiting_ so terribly patiently, just like he’d asked. It had seemed like a good idea at the time, at least. Fun, even. She grits her teeth against a combination of irritation and arousal, and he smirks.

“Hush. I’m arranging, let a man work Swan.”

He presses his thumb into the arch of her foot, making her squirm against the sheets.

“Yeah, that’s kinda what I wish you’d get on with?”

“Now, now perfection can’t be rushed,” he tsks, stepping around the bed and tugging roughly at her other thigh, bending forward slightly until she can feel the heat of his breath on her bare breasts.

“Last week on the ship says different,” she gasps, arching her back to bring her breasts closer to his mouth. For a moment she feels his fingers tighten against her inner thigh and he thinks she might have convinced him, but then he’s pulling away, his tongue tucked in his cheek and his eyes flashing a warning.

It’s all she can do not to groan out loud.

“There’s a time and a place, Swan. And tonight I intend to take my time appreciating certain… qualities.”

He almost leers, his eyebrows doing some bizarre dance, and she’s almost overcome with a rush of affection for this ridiculous man.

“So you’re going to pose me like a doll?” she asks, lifting her own brows.

His face drops suddenly into something much more serious, much softer, and he runs his hand lightly, lightly along her side and across her stomach until her muscles quiver and goosebumps rise in his wake.

“Like the piece of art you are.”

She’d scoff, but his fingers are moving lower, lower, and his mouth is hovering above her, and this is really very unfair.

“Oh, I bet you feel like an artist.”

He pulls away, looking down at the flush that’s spread across her collarbones and the way her hands are twitching against her sides, only the way his own chest heaves in time with hers suggesting anything of the frustration he must be putting himself through.

“Darling. You have no idea how beautiful you are, no idea at all about the things I want to do to you. Do you know what you want me to do, Emma?”

Emma peers at the ceiling, following the line of a crack with her eyes as Killian stalks around the bed, his teeth in his lip and his eyes dark. She’s not about to give him the satisfaction of seeing her beg for anything.

“This is the point where you impress me, right?” she drawls, breathlessness slightly spoiling the effect as he pauses at the foot of the bed, his arms folded.

”Impress is one word for it, aye. Shall I have you scream my praises?”

Emma hums, breaking the rules long enough to lift her arms over her head in a stretch that makes his jaw twitch. “That shouldn’t be too difficult. I’m a lucky girl, I can admit that.”

Killian pounces, his hand and hook just rough enough as he presses her wider, wider, his last words vibrating through her core as he sets himself to the task of testing her soundproofing spell, the first touch of his tongue almost enough to set her aflame.

“Not as lucky as I, I wager.”


End file.
